Understandings and Unfulfilled Desires
by applejacks0808
Summary: Summoning all the strength she had, Molly Hooper closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and uttered the phrase she never thought she would say… "Sherlock, I think we should stop seeing each other." Sherlock Holmes will learn a lesson in break-ups, and the pain of never speaking your true feelings. Established Sherlolly (well sort-of).
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I guess this is a good enough place to mention that I do not own Sherlock, nor is this for profit. It is written to satisfy my Sherlloly needs!**

* * *

She could see the irony in her decision, and if she wasn't so nervous, she'd probably find it hilarious. After so many years of pining and wanting, she finally had what she desired. Well… sort of. The choice was not an easy one to make, but after wrestling with the idea for the past week, she realized it was the right thing to do. Summoning all the strength she had, Molly Hooper closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and uttered the phrase she never thought she would say…

"Sherlock, I think we should stop seeing each other."

* * *

It was no secret that Molly had strong feelings for Sherlock pretty much from the first time she saw him. Yes he could easily grace the pages of GQ, but what she admired most was his exceptional mind. However brilliance such as his comes at a price, and sadly for Molly it meant he would not succumb to the frivolities of emotions and relationships. It was fine, she learned how to deal with it, and she happily accepted whatever he offered. In this case, his friendship.

The road to friendship between the consulting detective and pathologist was not an easy one. However when Sherlock came to Molly for help in faking his death, nothing else seemed to matter. And so after years of unrequited feelings (Molly) and hurtful deductions (Sherlock) that suddenly seemed trivial, they were able to move on. To Molly, having his trust made up for every wrong doing imaginable. To Sherlock, having that kind of loyalty was humbling. Upon his return after dismantling Moriarty's network, the two slipped into a comfortable and familiar camaraderie. Though she was no John Watson, Molly proved to be a very good assistant. Sherlock came to depend on her, coming to her for advice, and even took her on several of his cases (nothing too dangerous of course). Molly assumed he did this because he was lonely (or he enjoyed showing off), but if he was being completely honest with himself it was because he truly enjoyed her company.

At some point that camaraderie turned into an understanding; no labels, no declarations of love, just togetherness. They continued their working relationship, took their meals together, and hung out whenever Sherlock was not on a case. It was only when Sherlock suggested that it was 'time they had sex' that Molly even knew their relationship had changed.

And it was fine. For eight months it was fine, until one day it wasn't.

* * *

Sherlock was looking at samples through his microscope when he heard Molly. A bit annoyed that he was disturbed, he looked up at her for the first time since she arrived at Baker St… three hours earlier.

"What was that Molly?"

"Oh, um- I said that I think we- er that we should stop seeing each other." Molly replied timidly, purposely averting her eyes. Had she been looking, she would have seen the hurt in his eyes before he slipped on his mask of indifference.

"Why? Did I do something wrong?" He asked coolly, with just a hint of sadness.

"No Sherlock believe me, you haven't done anything wrong. In fact, you've been surprisingly wonderful."

"Well then…"

Molly inhaled and readied her nerves. "When we started _this_," she began, gesturing between the two of them, "we said we would take it day-by-day until one of us wasn't satisfied anymore. You made it perfectly clear of what you were capable of giving me, and it's been great, but I find myself wanting more." She took the opportunity to get closer to him. "I thought this would be enough for me, I mean I've wanted you for so long, but I want a relationship. Somewhere down the line I would like to get married and have children."

Sherlock sighed and stood up from his make-shift lab space, slowly approaching her. "Molly I-"

"No, I know that you don't want those things. And I won't ask you to change just for me. You've given me more than I could have ever hoped for. You gave me a chance, and that's all I really wanted. But I need to be fair to myself too, and if there is a possibility of finding what I want then I should take it; even if it isn't with you." She bit her lower lip, trying to fight back the tears and let out a sad laugh. "Oh I can't believe I'm doing this. I must have gone mental…"

"No Molly, you're being considerate," Sherlock said taking her hand in his. "I can't say I'll like this, but I can appreciate that you are accepting my limitations."

They stood facing each other, hand in hand, for several minutes. To anyone observing the scene before them, it looked like two people trying to memorize each other's face; and maybe that's exactly what they were doing.

Sherlock was the first to break the silence. "Molly, can I still-"

Molly rolled her eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "Yes Sherlock you will still have access to the lab."

"Um that's good, but that is not what I was going to ask."

"Oh sorry. What were you going to say?"

Sherlock released her hand to ruffle his hair. It was his go-to move when he was feeling frustrated, or worse, uncomfortable. "Well what I was going to ask- um that is- I wanted to know… Are we, can we still be friends? It's just that, as you know, I don't make friends easily. I can't afford to lose any." A small smile graced his face, attempting to lighten up the moment.

Molly giggled, "Yeah you really are rubbish at making friends… or, you know, interacting with people in general." Sherlock snorted. "In all honesty, I don't think I could ever _not_ be your friend. But you have to give me time, Sherlock. Time to get over you. And until that time comes, I don't think we should be around each other. I'll still help you at Bart's, of course. But please respect my wishes." He nodded solemnly, "yes, I'll try to be respectful."

"Good. Thank you," she replied softly while headed towards the door. "You know, this is probably the most 'adult' break up I've ever had. And it was with you! Who would have guessed?"

"I don't know why everyone thinks I am incapable of behaving like an adult," he responded incredulously, as he followed Molly out. She turned around and quirked her eyebrow as if to say 'really?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes, before stopping her at the door. "We had a good run, didn't we?" he asks almost wistfully.

"Yeah we did Sherlock." She reached up and kissed his cheek. "Goodbye Sherlock Holmes."

It wasn't until he heard the front door close that he whispered, "Goodbye Molly Hooper."

* * *

**End Note: I am still new to this, so I would appreciate any advice/critiques you all have to offer. I haven't decided if this is a one-shot, or a multi-chapter fic, so please review and let me know what you think (ideas welcomed too)! Thanks! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thank you to those who reviewed. You made my day and encouraged me to keep writing! I hope I don't disappoint. This chapter has some adult content/ language. Nothing smutty, I promise! Again, I do not own Sherlock, just a lot of Sherlloly feels!**

* * *

After Molly left Sherlock returned to his microscope, however he had a hard time concentrating. Deciding that he wouldn't get much accomplished he put away his samples, sat in his chair, and retreated to his Mind Palace. Walking through the hallways in his mind he began to assess the last eight months he had spent with Molly, more specifically, their beginning.

* * *

Being a new husband and father occupied much of John Watson's time (too much time if you asked Sherlock). Sure he understood that the good doctor would have many more responsibilities, obviously, but it didn't mean he had to like it. So in an effort to impede boredom, he had to find alternate forms of entertainment. Enter Molly. It began with a few trips to Bart's every few days to pick up body parts for his personal research. Trips that originally began as five minute visits became hour-long ordeals, where he sat with Molly in her lab and discussed recent research in pathology and innovations in the field of forensics. When she was particularly busy he would observe her perform autopsies and offer suggestions on cause of death. On several occasions he would arrive at Bart's, get caught up in conversation, and leave empty handed. Those days provided an excuse to call Molly and ask that she drop off the body parts at Baker St; and when she was feeling particularly generous she would even help out with his work. Ever the gentleman, he would have take-away delivered and waiting as payment for her kindness. Dinners and experiments soon became a frequent affair between the two.

Eventually it became less experiments and more 'hanging out.' This usually happened at Molly's flat which was cozier, and let's be honest, much more sanitary. It was unusual to see Molly so relaxed around him, but it was definitely a welcomed relief. Without the constant stuttering and nervousness, they were able to have conversations about anything and everything; he learned a lot about her childhood, things he had never deduced. And though he didn't offer the same courtesy, he was aware that they were friends now. Suddenly, not having John around didn't seem like such an inconvenience; he had Molly. The two were inseparable, spending most of their free time together, even during Sherlock's weekly Sunday dinners at the Watsons.

One evening while walking Molly back to her flat after leaving the Watson's home, he decided to broach the topic of intimacy. "Molly… I enjoy your company," he said cautiously. "Wow, thanks Sherlock. You know I enjoy yours too, right?" Fighting the urge to roll his eyes he responded, "Obviously you do, or you wouldn't spend so much time with me." "True I guess," she giggled before letting the conversation lull.

Not one to be deterred, he continued. "You haven't dated anyone in a while. Why is that?" Caught a little off guard by his choice in topic, she tentatively answered. "I don't know really. I suppose after everything that happened with Tom, I feel a bit um- discouraged, if that makes sense. Not to mention that I don't have much free time; after all babysitting you is a full-time job!"

Sherlock chuckled, "I'm sure both John and Mycroft would agree with you. However I am slightly offended that you believe I need to be babysat. I am a grown man, you know." Molly turned to him and smiled, pursing her lips to keep from laughing out loud. After a beat, he resumed with a more serious attitude, "Do you miss it?"

She was unable to follow his train of thoughts and furrowed her brows. "Miss what? Tom or dating?" Sherlock ignored her confusion and continued looking forward, "No I meant… do you miss sex?"

Startled by the bluntness of his question, she stopped dead in her tracks, this time gaping at him. He got half way down the block before he realized she was no longer walking alongside him. Molly shook off her astonishment and picked up her pace to catch up. "Sherlock, exactly why are we having this conversation?" Feeling that this wasn't a conversation to be had while walking, he stopped and faced her. "Well if you do miss sex, and have decided to not pursue dating, I am offering an option... Me." He couldn't read the blank expression on her face, so he chose to do what he did best and list the facts. "Logically speaking, there are many reasons why we should engage in a sexual relationship. First, we enjoy each other's company which could translate to sexual compatibility. Secondly, you are familiar with my idiosyncrasies and yet you put up with me, thus proving that you have already formed some sort of attachment to me. Thirdly, we are both healthy and reasonably attractive, which I believe will make it enjoyable for the both of us… Really I could keep going, but I think I've made my point," he finished a bit breathlessly, somewhat pleased with himself.

Molly sighed and closed her eyes for a minute before sadly whispering, "But you don't love me."

Sherlock wasn't well versed in social niceties, but even he understood that he had to tread carefully. "No Molly I don't, but I do care for you. I respect you, I value you, I trust you, and I wasn't lying when I said I enjoy being with you. I am not promising flowers, candies, and dates… or whatever it is people do. What I am offering is adding a sexual component to our friendship." Hesitantly he reached for her hands, and tried to meet her gaze. "I am fond of you, but I am not capable of love. I won't be your boyfriend, but I could be a companion of sorts. You can have me... We already spend much of our time together. Not much would change."

At this, Molly's head snapped up. "Not much would change? Everything would change Sherlock! You know how I feel about you, how can I be happy having you without really having you?"

It was Sherlock's turn to sigh before he continued. "This is not something I take lightly; as you know I can barely handle friendships. What I am proposing goes beyond that, and I am completely out of my depth. But… it is all I can give, and I am offering it to you. You can expect me to always be honest with you, and if we reach a point in which either of us is no longer happy with the arrangement, we can stop. Can you- will you- at least consider it?"

Slowly Molly removed her hands from his and continued walking the short distance to her flat. Following her lead, Sherlock wordlessly walked alongside her waiting for her answer. They remained silent the rest of the way; Molly thinking loudly while Sherlock trying not to think. Once they reached the door, Molly made eye contact for the first time since the awkward conversation began. "Look Sherlock, this is a lot to process and I think I just need some time. Is that okay?"

"Sure Molly, take all the time you need," he said as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. It didn't escape his notice the red that colored her cheeks before stepping inside.

* * *

Sherlock snapped out of his mind palace a few hours later when he heard the sound of an incoming text. Deeming it unimportant, he looked at the time and saw that he had thirty minutes before he was expected to arrive at the Watson's home. It was a silly tradition, meeting every Sunday for dinner, but he truly did enjoy it. If John was the brother he wished he had, then Mary was definitely the sister he never had. Perhaps it was her past that allowed her to relate with him so well, but whatever it was he relished it. And how he adored the latest addition, Miss Emily Watson!

Exactly twenty minutes later, he rang the doorbell to his best friend's flat. "Hello John," he greeted as the door opened and was ushered in. John stood at the door for a few seconds waiting for Molly to follow him in as she usually does. "Um… Sherlock, is Molly not coming?"

Sherlock sighed inwardly, slightly annoyed that he would have to explain the situation to his friends. "No, actually we broke up," he revealed without any emotion as he made his way towards the sitting area.

If he was being completely honest, John had anticipated it for some time. It wasn't that he thought they weren't suited for each other, but he knew that nothing good could come from this arrangement. You can't ignore feelings and emotions when entering a relationship without it blowing up in your face. He expected that from Sherlock (he was emotionally stunted), but he was truly surprised that Molly would willingly agree to this.

John huffed and rubbed his hands over his face. "Christ Sherlock, what did you do?" Before Sherlock could respond, Mary entered the room carrying Baby Emily. She walked over to Sherlock and kissed his cheek. "Hello Sherlock, dinner is almost ready." Sensing something was wrong she looked between the two men and asked, "What's going on?"

"I just informed your husband that Molly and I are no longer together…" Mary gasped before handing her daughter to John. "Oh, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," he countered defensively. John placed his daughter in the cot and walked over to join his wife on the sofa. "What happened then?" he asked sounding a bit troubled.

He plopped onto the armchair and ruffled his hair. "Well she came over this morning and said that we should end things. She wants children and marriage, I don't, so that was it... It was all pretty straightforward."

"Pfft, he makes it sound like he's talking about the weather," John whispered to his wife. Mary ignored him and addressed Sherlock. "And just like that it's over? You're not going to try and work it out?"

"There isn't anything to work out, Mary. I told her from the beginning that I couldn't offer those things. She knew what she was getting into; and we both agreed that if we reached a point where we were unhappy we would end it."

"How mature of you," John muttered under his breath, thinly hiding his irritation.

"Anyway, she made a valid point. She said that I would resent her if she tried to change me. Which I would. We all know that I am not capable of being a husband or a father," he shuddered for dramatic effect.

John rolled his eyes and stood up from his seat. "At one point you didn't think you were "capable" of having friends, and look at you now."

"You also said relationships "were not your area", and you were with Molly for eight months!" Mary added.

"What's your point?" Sherlock asked through gritted teeth glaring at his best friend.

"My point, you dick, is that you are capable. You are hiding behind all that "sociopathic" nonsense so that you don't have to deal with your feelings. But I know you Sherlock!"

"Feelings?" Sherlock scoffed. "What feelings? While I do care for Molly, we both knew this wasn't going to last. We reached an impasse and it was time to go our separate ways, simple as that."

Resisting the urge to punch his friend in the face, John pounded the table instead. "'Simple as that' he says! That woman is a saint for putting up with you as long as she did!"

"I don't understand why you are upset Dr. Watson. Molly and I had a discussion, and we parted on amicable terms. Why don't you stop being passive-aggressive and tell me what is really bothering you!"

"You know, I knew this would happen." John said despondently. "You asked for this, you just about badgered Molly into this 'agreement' of yours, and she's the one who gets hurt. How is that fair? Hmm…"

"Okay John, what's done is done. The only thing we can do is move forward and help Sherlock along," Mary said in an attempt to pacify the situation.

"Help me? Why do I need help?" Sherlock asked skeptically.

"Because she's been a large part of your life," she said soothingly. "It will take time to adjust to these changes."

"Things won't change all that much. We were friends before, we'll be friends again. Not to mention that we will still have to work together," Sherlock uttered as he walked to the dining table. "I think both of you are turning this into a bigger deal than what it really is."

Mary turned to her husband and shrugged before following the detective, leaving John behind. He walked over to his daughter's cot and picked her up before whispering, "Your Uncle Sherlock has no idea what he's in for."

* * *

**A/N: Please take a second to review. I am new to this, so any suggestions or critiques you have to offer are greatly appreciated. Also I apologize for any formatting issues. I am still learning! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading/reviewing/following/favorite-ing (not a word)! It means a lot to me. I know it's moving a little slowly, but I want to show Sherlock's growth in character. Some of you are eager for Sherlolly fluffiness, it's coming I promise! However our boy has been wicked, so he's gonna have to work for it! (That's my inner Irene Adler coming out, sorry). I hope you enjoy it! :)**

***_Italics are used for inner monologues_**

* * *

The rest of the evening at the Watsons was spent in tension-filled silence; to say it was uncomfortable was an understatement. Never one to pick up on social cues, Sherlock continued eating his dinner, satisfied that the "Molly conversation" had been dropped. However at the head of the table, John could barely contain his aggravation. Every time Sherlock brought the fork up to his mouth, he felt like reaching across and knocking the smug look off his face. The hostility in the room grew and grew with every scraping of plate and clatter of silverware. Finally John had enough.

"Are you really so daft that you think everything will go back to normal?"

Sherlock wiped his mouth, and threw his napkin on the table. "For God's sake, are we still discussing this?"

"Yes we are because I don't think you understand. You may not have had a "conventional relationship" but you obviously had something special; we all saw it! Can you honestly tell me that when you go to Bart's tomorrow, nothing will be weird?"

"Actually, I told Molly I would give her some space. So I won't be visiting anytime soon… Unless it's official business, of course," Sherlock replied somberly.

"Sure, because we all know how you love respecting boundaries," John mumbled and earned himself a scowl from his wife.

* * *

After spending most of the night tossing and turning, Molly got up and put the kettle on. Once her cup was ready she walked over to her favorite armchair to do some serious thinking.

Sherlock wanted to have sex. With her. But not date her. _'Ugh! What does that even mean?!'_ Was it just a casual thing? Did he expect her to be at his beck and call? She doubted that he would treat her like his whore (Sherlock wouldn't be so vulgar), but would they have some sort of system? Like appointments. Sex appointments? As ridiculous as it seemed, it wasn't too difficult to picture him taking out his mobile and scheduling 'sexy times' every other Tuesday at 3:00 pm.

Was she seriously considering this? She had dreamed about this for a long time. To be wanted and desired by Sherlock Holmes had been her wish since they first met. However, would she be happy being _just_ a sexual partner? Was that enough? Her mind was bouncing back and forth between two sound arguments:

1.) she would regret never knowing what it felt like to be in his arms, and

2.) she would most likely hate herself when he inevitably broke her heart.

Remembering that no reasonable decision was ever made at two in the morning, she chose to let it go for the moment and tried to get some rest. There was no rush. After all Sherlock told her to 'take all the time she needed' right? Yes, there was no rush whatsoever.

She really should have known better…

The next morning she arrived at work to find the high-functioning sociopath himself sitting behind her desk.

"Ah Molly! There you are!" He greeted cheerfully. "Um- morning Sherlock," she returned the greeting half-heartedly. Her coffee hadn't kicked in yet and she wasn't ready to deal with him, or whoever this sunny version was. She busied herself hanging her coat and purse when Sherlock stood up from the desk chair and strode over to her side.

"Sooooo?" he said purposefully stretching out the last syllable looking at her expectantly. Molly sighed, "What?"

"Well did you think about what we discussed last night?"

"Yes. Have I decided? No." She didn't intend to snap at him, but after a night of unrest and a cup of what she now suspected was decaffeinated coffee, she couldn't be held responsible for her actions. Not entirely trusting herself in such close proximity, she figured it was a good idea to head towards the lab and get some space. He made no move to follow her so she began to believe she was spared the awkward conversation.

Molly had already removed some samples from the incubator and set up the day's experiment when she heard the lab doors close loudly. _'Come on Hooper, did you really think he would let it go that quickly,'_ she silently chastised herself.

"Well how about now?"

"Are you asking me if I made a decision in the last-" she glanced down at her wrist theatrically, "-three minutes? What happened to giving me time?" She really wasn't ready to deal with this.

"You had last night to think about it," Sherlock replied slightly baffled.

Pinching the bridge of her nose she began to explain herself. "That's not a lot of time Sherlock! What you are asking requires a lot of consideration. It might not seem like a big deal to you, but it is to me… We are friends now, and I would hate to lose that."

He made his way into the room with his hands clasped behind his back. "So you need more time?"

"Yes, that is what I am saying."

"Alright, Molly Hooper, then more time you shall have," he declared as he dramatically exited the lab.

The rest of the week was quite similar. Molly would arrive at work, find Sherlock there, inform him that she hadn't made a decision, and reiterate that she needed time without his pestering. For three days it was the same scenario. When she walked into her office Friday morning, she was surprised to find it unoccupied. Then she entered the lab and discovered it was empty as well. She shrugged her shoulders and went on with her day, all the while ignoring the feeling of disappointment.

Upon her return from lunch, she stumbled on three familiar crime-solving faces waiting outside the morgue. Greg Lestrade was the first to notice her arrival. "Hey Molls, have you finished the Phillips autopsy? His royal highness over here needs to take a look." Quickly she hugged him before opening the door to let the men in; she noticed Sherlock's eyes narrow and his jaw clench.

"Yes, I haven't performed the tox screen yet, but I suspect it wasn't suicide. I was-"

Unwilling to remain quiet, Sherlock interrupted, "See! I told you Geoff! What an incompetent lot you-"

"Sherlock…" John scolded before turning his attention to Molly.

"Hi Molly!" He walked over and kissed her cheek. "Hi John!" Sherlock and Greg continued their bickering as they walked towards the body. Not wanting to get in the middle of that, she stayed back with John. "How's Mary and Emily?"

"Oh they're great. Actually Emily just had a doctor's visit and she needed to get her vaccines. Poor thing she-"

"Yes, yes Emily is fine. Mary is fine. We are all fine!" Sherlock huffed impatiently. He turned to address Molly, "So you hug Gordon, kiss John, but you won't have sex with me? I don't understand. Everyone knows that you fancy me!"

Defying science, Molly felt herself pale and blush at the same time. "WHAT!" she roared. Sherlock didn't need John to tell him that that was "not good." He attempted to pacify the situation. "Forgive me. It was not my intention to offend you, all I meant was- er…" Sherlock turned to look at John as if asking for assistance and found that he was on his own.

Greg, who was slowly sidestepping his way to the door, cleared his throat. "Well it looks like I got what I need for now. Molls- um I mean Molly- please let me know when you get the tox results. Yeah, okay. I best be leaving!" He gave John one last pitying look before scrambling out of the room.

When Sherlock returned his gaze to Molly he could see that she was livid. Despite his many transgressions, he had never seen Molly in such a state. For once he was scared that he had gone too far.

She pulled back her shoulders, standing just a little bit taller, and inched towards the consulting detective. "Get. Out. Now." she bit out scathingly.

Sherlock took a few steps back. "Molly I know this isn't my area of expertise, but we should probably discuss-"

Her small hand came up to stop him, effectively shutting him up. (John made a mental note to ask her how she did that). "If you don't leave then I will. And if you follow me out, I will hurt you Sherlock Holmes. Now leave me alone!"

John placed his hand on his friend's arm and nodded towards the door. "Don't say anything, it will make things worse. Let's just go." Sherlock peeled his eyes away from the angry pathologist and escaped from the morgue. Before leaving, John pulled Molly into a tight hug. "I don't know what the hell that was, but I'll set him straight. You know how he is… he still has trouble with this. Being a friend... But as long as I am around, I won't let him upset you. And if he does-," he pulled back to look at her face, "remember I was a soldier." With one last kiss on the cheek and wink, he left.

He caught up with Sherlock outside, who already had a cab waiting. They remained silent on the drive to Baker Street, both of them looking out in hopes of delaying the confrontation a little longer. Once they reached the safety of 221B, Sherlock went directly to his chair and flopped down. John stood at the entrance of the flat and stared at his best friend. "No Sherlock. No mind palace this time. Now, what the hell is the matter with you?"

Sherlock wasn't really in the mood for sharing, but he realized he had no idea what he was doing. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help. So he spilled everything; his attraction to Molly, how he proposed this 'understanding', and the events of the past week in which he tried to sway her opinion in his favor. By the end of his long winded confession he had a splitting headache; and John had a shit-eating grin. He couldn't wait to tell Mary!

* * *

Sherlock left the Watsons completely exhausted, like on-a-case-that-rates-a-10 kind of exhaustion. He walked away from his friend's house in search of a cab. When his pursuit was unsuccessful, he decided to continue on foot. On the journey home to his bed, his mind began to wonder.

_'What does it matter if I'm with Molly or not? And how is it any of their business? It does not affect them, so why do they care?' ' _Sure they had had a hand in joining them. And had it not been for Mary intervening, Molly would have never forgiven him for that day in the lab when she kicked him out. And yes, John played a vital role in the establishment of this affair. Even though he repeatedly said that referring to it as an 'agreement' was a bad idea and not the way to win the affections of a woman, he still continued to support them. When he stumbled in the beginning, both John and Mary would patiently help him through it and 'see the error of his ways.' Actually, they were probably the reason why Molly stuck around for as long as she did._ 'They are good friends. Molly was a good friend too…'_

It was that last though that had him take in his surroundings. He was standing on the pavement outside of Molly's flat. _'Ugh! How did I get here?' _From below he could see that the light of her bedside lamp was on. '_She's probably reading in bed'_ he thought as he smiled to himself. He always found it amusing that she would attempt to read in bed. She wouldn't even get through one page before she fell asleep. Sherlock couldn't count the number of times he came to bed to find an open book on her face, and a faint snore coming from underneath. Whenever he brought it up, she would just laugh. She thought it was embarrassing. He thought it was absolutely adorable.

Sherlock stood there a few more minutes; the weight of his fatigue beginning to take its toll. He thought about going up and sleeping there. Surely she wouldn't mind; how many times had she opened her home to him. He stumbled towards her door and raised his hand to press the doorbell. In a brief moment of clarity, he reconsidered. If he was going to have any chance of continuing his 'pre-agreement' relationship with Molly, it was probably best that he not piss her off. Since they couldn't be together, he would try his damnedest to be worthy of her friendship. And that meant respecting her wishes and giving her the time and space she needed. After all, a life without Molly was no life at all.

With one final look over his shoulder, he stared at the small bedroom window on the third floor. "Goodnight Molly Hooper… Sweet dreams." Summoning all the strength he had (both physical and mental), he turned away from the flat that housed many great memories, and headed home.

* * *

**End notes: Please review, the only way I can improve is by getting some feedback! I am also open to any suggestions! Lots of love to you guys! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I completely neglected this story, and for that I am sorry! I had a hard time with this chapter, and though I'm not entirely pleased with it I feel it needed to be done in order to keep the story going. Thank you for the support, I hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

Mary Watson sighed as she closed the front door. _'Poor Sherlock'_ she thought to herself. She walked into the kitchen where John had washed most of the dishes. "Oh bless your heart, you beautiful man! You did the dishes!" He turned around and grinned at her, "Of course I did, you made dinner, and it's only fair that I clean up."

Mary smirked as she circled her arms around her husband's waist. "Is that only reason you cleaned up? Or do you have ulterior motives, _Doctor Watson_," she said as she wiggled her brow suggestively.

John chuckled, "Love, I always have ulterior motives…" He released a sigh before continuing. "Actually I just needed to clear my head. This whole thing with Sherlock really caught me off guard." Mary nodded in agreement. "Yeah I know me too. But have faith in him. I think he will realize his feelings soon enough, he can't be pushed. He'll come around."

The doctor leaned in and pressed a kiss on his wife's brow. "You're right, I'll back off. I just hope he doesn't take too long. Molly is a great girl, and he has no idea what he is giving up." He brought his hands up and pushed his hair back. "Oh God Mary, I forgot! Molly? She must be absolutely broken up about this. I warned her this would happen, but I prayed I was wrong. Jesus…"

"John don't worry. I'll ring her up in a bit, invite her out and check for myself. Although the fact that she broke things off is pretty amazing. I didn't think she had it in her!" With that, Mary left the kitchen in search of her phone. She needed to check on her. Mary didn't have many friends (well real friends), but the few she did have, she was fiercely loyal to. And that loyalty now extended to Molly Hooper.

**_(21:10) Hey Molls, we missed you at dinner tonight! Can we meet up and have lunch soon? I'm in desperate need of grown-up time :)- MW_**

**_(21:12) Sure Mary, I'm sure you already know what happened. But I bet you have some questions for me, right?- xMolly_**

**_(21:13) I wouldn't be good at what I do if I didn't get all the facts first! How about lunch tomorrow? I can meet you during your lunch hour if that is easier for you?- MW_**

**_(21:15) We can go whenever. I took some time off from work, I figured that was the best way to avoid him for a few days.- xMolly_**

**_(21:20) Good call. Well if you don't have to be at work, how about we meet at your place for dinner, order in take-away, and drink copious amounts of wine? ;)- MW_**

**_(21:20) It's a date! :)- xMolly_**

* * *

Mary arrived at Molly's flat promptly at seven the next evening with a bottle of red wine. While she was completely enamored with her daughter, she occasionally needed some alone time, and a drink.

"Hello love," Mary exclaimed as she engulfed Molly into her arms. "How are you?"

Molly shrugged, "As good as can be expected, I suppose. There are moments I feel proud that I put my foot down, but then I begin to feel like I've made a huge mistake."

The two women enjoyed a cup of tea while their wine chilled, and for dinner to be delivered. Molly had not brought up Sherlock since the vague comment upon Mary's arrival, and she was unsure of how to bring it up. Instead they passed the time discussing the adorable Miss Watson, and Molly's work at Bart's. Finally when Mary thought she would burst, Molly let out a small giggle.

"I'm impressed Mary, you held out longer than I thought. But I can see that you're dying to ask about him, so go ahead."

Mary frowned a bit, "Sorry, I was trying to be patient. But you're right, I'm dying to know. Let's start with why… Why did you break up with him? Sherlock gave a brief explanation, but I'm sure he missed something. So why?"

Molly exhaled and sat further back on the sofa in an attempt to get more comfortable. "Well I wasn't lying when I said that I wanted more. Someday I would like to get married and have children, but I know that that is not what Sher- what he wants… Suddenly I pictured us with a house and children, and what should be a happy time in our life, he would be miserable. And I couldn't stand to see that happen."

"Hmm… that makes sense," Mary said, hoping to encourage her to continue.

"But really, I realized that it was a little ridiculous that I couldn't _define_ our relationship. We have sex, we spend most of our time together, we have an '_understanding_'… but what does that mean? Last week he got upset when one of his clients referred to me as his girlfriend. And when his parents were in town, he avoided me so that I wouldn't have a chance to meet them!" Molly said as she wrapped her arms around her knees. "I know I agreed to it, so really it is my fault, but I guess I didn't expect for it to bother me as much as it did."

"So you decided to end things?" Mary asked sadly. Tears began to run down Molly's face. "I had to Mary! There was no point in putting off the inevitable."

Mary reached over and grabbed her friend's hand. "Sweetie I know you might not want to hear this, but did you think about discussing this with Sherlock? I mean, no one thought he would ever concede to being in a relationship. But he did, for you! Maybe he would agree to this in time?"

Molly had to appreciate Mary's optimism. "I could end up waiting a lifetime for him to decide he's ready. After all, for seven years he knew about my feelings for him and he only did something about it a year ago! It's time to accept that I will never have the life I want with Sherlock Holmes." She had held herself together fairly well until she said his name; then the floodgates opened. Sobs violently overtook her body, turning her into to a big, weeping mess.

Immediately, she felt strong, comforting arms hold her and console her. A few minutes passed before her breath began to regulate. Molly sat up and wiped the tears from her face, "Thank you Mary. I apologize- I am not good company on your one night off."

Mary smiled. "Oh hush you!" she playfully chided. "I didn't mean to make you cry, I just wanted to understand. I think John and I are having trouble coming to terms with it."

"John? And you? Why would you be having trouble?"

"Well we love you, and we love Sherlock, so naturally we want to see you both happy. And right now, both of you look miserable!"

With a large cleansing breath, Molly replied, "_If_ Sherlock was affected by this, I'm sure he is over it by now. One case- an eight or better- and he will have all but forgotten me. Well at least until he needs some toes for an experiment," she laughed ruefully.

_'Wow, Molly underestimates her value. It seems this won't be as easy as I had hoped.'_ Mary thought to herself.

Just as she had advised John to not push Sherlock, Mary decided the same was to be done for Molly. Clearly she was still uncomfortable, and forcing her to talk about Sherlock would be detrimental. But if her time as a spy taught her anything, it was patience… She would give them time- for now- but soon she would get working on bringing her two friends together again.

The evening didn't last much longer, Mary needed to return to her family, and Molly was emotionally exhausted. She picked up the wine glasses and dinner plates and set them in the sink, deciding to take care of them later. Quickly petting Toby, she walked towards her bedroom, stripped down, and got into bed.

As tired as she was, she couldn't sleep. Molly was not used to sleeping without Sherlock; even on nights he was away on a case, he would call her and wish her a goodnight. While lying in bed Molly began to realize that while Sherlock didn't meet normal 'boyfriend' standards, he _had_ made an effort. For her. And she had taken it for granted.

"Enough Molly!" she scolded herself. "What's done is done. I made my decision, and he agreed to it. So now it's time to move on…"

After she tossed and turned for another hour, Molly eventually fell asleep, with visions of Sherlock playing in her mind.

* * *

The following morning Molly woke to the midday sun streaming through her window. And though she was not hung-over, she did have a headache; the type of headache that stems from a night of crying. She was resigned to spend the day in bed until she felt a small paw batting at her face. "Alright Toby, I guess I've neglected you long enough. Let's go get you some food."

After she fed Toby, she took toll of the damage from the previous night. As was her 'break-up' ritual, she set off to clean her flat. Molly found it soothing to wash the failure of the relationship out of her home. She would clean, scrub, rearrange furniture, and pack up the ex's things until finally she was rid of their shared memories. The last time she cleaned- when she and Tom broke up- hadn't been too stressful. He hardly spent any time in her flat, so she wasn't entirely inconvenienced. At the end of her cleaning-spree all she returned to Tom was a sweater, a book he had loaned her, and her engagement ring. The fact that it was so easy to remove all traces of him from her home was a clear indicator that she had made the right choice in ending things with him.

But now how was she going to remove Sherlock from her home? Her flat was his bolt-hole, his refuge! Hell, he lived there for several weeks when he was 'dead' to the world. Little traces of him could be found all over the place (which was one of the reasons she fought so much with Tom). Now since they had ventured into this _arrangement_, memories of their time together in her flat smothered her.

Molly went around her home gathering random things he had left behind: a disposable mobile phone, a pair of glasses he had used as a disguise, even a few ribs for a skeleton he was trying to assemble. Wherever she went, she found something that belonged to him; and that was just in the living room! By the time she made her way to the bathroom, the box was more than half full. She was collecting the last of the toiletries he stored there and placing them into the box, when she came across the first challenge. Packing his dressing gown.

It wasn't Sherlock's finest dressing gown (like the silk ones he kept at Baker St.) but it was a reminder of how at ease he felt in her home. The blue robe hung behind the bathroom door right beside her lavender one. On several occasions- when her dressing gown was dirty or when she missed him- she would wear it, rolling the sleeves several times and breathing in his scent. She remembered all the times they would lounge around her flat wearing nothing but their dressing gowns; either because they were being lazy or in anticipation of their next moment of passion. That was thing with Sherlock, she never knew when the mood would strike him. And when it did, he had to have her right away. He would sneak up on her and lavish her body with his warmth. He would worship her body and her mind; giving her all of his attention. It was both thrilling and terrifying to have the great mind of Sherlock Holmes concentrating solely on her.

In those moments she almost, **_almost_**, felt loved. And while she relished it, at the same time she dreaded what was next- when his appetite was satisfied and he returned to splitting his attention on… well whatever caught his attention that day. It was almost as if she could see the fire- dare she say love?- in his eyes slip away before an unfazed mask would appear in its place. No he wasn't cold, per se, but he wasn't as affectionate as he had been minutes earlier. If it didn't sting so much, she might have even found it humorous the way she went from lover to acquaintance in a manner of seconds.

Molly allowed herself one minute to hold the dressing gown and breathe in the remnant aroma that was unique to the detective. When her time was up, she took the gown off the hook and placed it in the box with the rest of his belongings. The added weight became too much to carry (whether actual weight or the metaphorical weight of the memories, she was unsure) and soon she decided that that was enough for the day. She perched herself on the edge of the bed and let the tears consume her. Tomorrow she would tackle the rest of the flat, mainly her bedroom which contained most of her blissful memories with Sherlock. But tonight? Tonight she would cry.

* * *

**End Notes: I hope it wasn't too bad, but I wanted to give Molly a chance to explain. I would like to point out that I don't think Sherlock is a bad man, I just think he doesn't know how to do feelings or relationships. But it doesn't mean he can't learn! ;)**

**Please take a moment to review, I appreciate any suggestions or advice y'all can offer! I plan to update soon, but reviews might persuade me to do so faster! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Before I am chased with torches and pitchforks, I'd like to appease you all by saying "Look how quickly I updated!" Now that that is out of the way, let me warn you that this chapter is full of angst! And it's a little dark... Sorry I know that you guys are ready for Sherlolly love, but it is on the way... I promise! Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy! :)**

***FYI: Italics= person on the other line of the phone**

* * *

At the dissolution of a relationship, Sherlock Holmes knew that Molly Hooper would complete a series of ritualistic stages. The first stage: cry. The extent of her crying depended on her attachment to her partner. For example, when Samuel Jordan (her first real relationship after graduating university) suddenly broke up with her, she cried for a week straight. However when Peter Lewis (a boring accountant) broke up with her, she was perfectly fine within three hours.

The second stage, taking time off from work, was also contingent on her regard for the man. For instance, Peter Lewis was worth one day (enough time to get the smell of his dreadful cologne out of her couch), whereas Jim Moriarty- who couldn't really be considered a boyfriend- warranted a three month sabbatical. Really, no one could fault her for that.

The last stage was the only one that did not rely on sentiment. No, rather it relied on how much time it took for her to wipe the memory of the ex-boyfriend out of the flat. Sometimes it would take two days, sometimes a week. But every time, she would box up their personal items to return to them and then scrub and sanitize everything in her home. Sherlock could appreciate this step, as this was much like his deleting information from his mind palace. Although unlike his technique, Molly usually ended up smelling of disinfecting agents and acquiring blisters on her delicate hands.

Sherlock knew all this because- aside from knowing practically everything there was to know about Molly- he was always there. He was there for the break-up, because let's be honest, he was usually the cause of it. He was there for the crying, because despite what everyone believed, he did hate to see Molly cry. And he was always there for the cleaning, mostly because he would try to convince her to return to Bart's with him.

Unfortunately, this time he would not- could not- be there. Would Molly even carry out her post break-up routine? He knew she would most likely be avoiding work so that she wouldn't run into him. But was she currently ridding her flat of all traces of him? Should he expect to receive a cardboard box full of his stuff soon?

At the thought of all the memories they had created together being destroyed, an inexplicable pain struck his chest.

* * *

The serenity of the Watson home was disrupted by the sudden sound of the doorbell, followed by the high-pitched wail from the adorable (and now awake) Emily Watson.

Mary grunted as she hoisted herself up from the comforts of their sofa. "Alright husband, you deal with whoever is at the door and I'll deal with our offspring!"

John chuckled and smiled as he made his way towards the front door. That smile dropped as soon as he greeted the person on the other side.

"…Mycroft?"

"Hello John. May I come in?" Mycroft Holmes gave a tight smile and used his trusty umbrella to gesture inside. John looked over the man's shoulder to see an expensive black car idling on the street.

"Uh, sure... Come in," he said as he opened the door wider to let his –_unwelcomed?_\- guest in.

"Love, who was at the door… Oh hello Mycroft!" Mary said as she walked into the living room holding the (now soothed) baby.

"Good morning, Mrs. Watson. It is a good thing you both are here. We need to talk… about Sherlock," Mycroft added dramatically.

The Watsons reclined onto their sofa wondering where this conversation was headed. John was the first to break the silence. "What has he done now?" The elder Holmes brother scoffed, "That's just it, he hasn't done anything! Sherlock hasn't left his flat in the past week… Not since Sunday."

Mary gasped, "That's the night we had dinner! When he told us about…" She turned to look at her husband. Surely this meant he was _affected_ by the break up, right?

"Sherlock told you what?" Mycroft asked impatiently.

John hesitated. He knew that Holmes siblings had issues, and he was not going to betray Sherlock's confidence by revealing the status of his relationship. However, Mary did not receive that message. "Molly Hooper broke up with Sherlock!" she blurted out. _'Damn, for a former spy, I sure did break easily!'_ she mentally scolded herself.

Her husband seemed to have the same opinion. "Really Mary?" John stared at his wife. "Why are you sharing all this with Mycroft? Mister-caring-is-not-an-advantage… He'll be glad to know that Molly isn't a _distraction_ anymore!"

Mycroft's usual mask of indifference changed into something else; something resembling sadness. "Well Dr. Watson, then you would be mistaken. Though it is true that I have said that in the past, I no longer feel that way. I believe Dr. Hooper has been the best thing to happen to my little brother, and I find that I am rather… _upset_… by this turn of events."

This time it was Mary who broke the silence. "You _wanted_ Sherlock and Molly together?"

"Mrs. Watson, does it really surprise you that I would want anything but my brother's happiness? It is my job to watch over him. My biggest concern is what will happen now…"

If someone had told John that he and 'The British Government' would be discussing Sherlock Holmes' love life, he would have bent over laughing. And yet, here they were.

"And what are you thinking?" John asked nervously. "Danger night?" Mary's eyes enlarged, knowing the implications of what a 'danger night' entailed. Mycroft only shrugged.

"I don't know John. And that is what frightens me."

* * *

As soon as Mycroft had bid farewell, John rushed over to Baker St. Of course he had been concerned about his friend, however learning that the 'The Ice Man' was worried as well only troubled him further. Completely bypassing his former landlady, he bounded up the stairs in search of the detective. "Sherlock?" John cried out into the seemingly empty flat.

Nothing.

"Sherlock?" He called out a little more forcefully. John typically thrived in stressful situations, but knowing that his best friend could have potentially harmed himself, sent him into a panic. "Sherlock!" The doctor had made his way towards the bedroom, when he heard a groan coming from that direction. A breath of relief escaped his lips when he found the man in question in his bed- somewhat intact- hugging a pillow, wrapped in an unfamiliar quilt.

He approached the bed cautiously, while calling out again. "Sherlock? Are you alright?" The detective buried himself further into his bedding. "Does it look like I am alright?" He snapped indignantly. Though John couldn't deduce as skillfully as Sherlock, it didn't take a genius to see that clearly he wasn't alright. He chose to calm down, aware that Sherlock was most likely picking a fight to avoid discussing the problem.

"Hey, when was the last time you ate? Why don't you get out of bed, while I try to find something edible in your fridge?" John coaxed.

Sherlock turned his head to face him, giving him a clear view of the dark circles located under his red-rimmed eyes. "I can't John. It hurts too much," he said softly. John nodded sympathetically before adding, "I know mate."

He re-positioned himself on the bed in order to prop against the headboard. He brought up the (out of place) yellow floral quilt up to his chin before addressing John again. "This is what you and Mary warned me about. Isn't it? You said that I would have a hard time adjusting without _her_. But you didn't tell me how much it would hurt. I am physically in pain! Right here!" He yelled as he pounded his chest. "John, I miss her. So much! I miss Molly, and it hurts."

It was very rare to see Sherlock being so candid and vulnerable, and John was at a loss for words. He decided it wasn't his place to say or do anything, but be a supportive friend and listen.

Soon, without further prompting, Sherlock continued. "You know that I've been sitting here, thinking about her, wondering what she is doing. Except that I **_do_** know what she is doing… She's getting rid of me!" He paused briefly, his quickening breaths filling the silence of the room. "Right now she is at her flat boxing up my stuff to give back to me. She is deleting me from her life!"

John turned and opened his mouth to speak before being cut off. "No don't, I know what you are going to say… _'Sherlock, she won't cut you out of her life. You'll still work together'_… But it won't be the same, John. It will kill me if I have to work with her, knowing that she doesn't love me anymore." He began to run his hands through his hair; it was evident to the doctor that his friend was getting worked up.

"And I tried. I tried to delete her from my mind palace, and I couldn't. That has never happened to me! I was able to erase the torture I endured while I was away hunting down Moriarty's associates, but I couldn't erase Molly. Then I tried to do what she does- you know packing up her stuff- before I found her quilt… But I can't give it back. It smells of her. What if this is the last piece of her I get?"

Tears were now running down his face; he didn't even try to hide them. John had been concerned before, but now he just _felt_ for his friend. He was one of the few people who was aware that Sherlock Holmes did have a heart, however he was blown away by just how much of that heart belonged to the petite pathologist.

Sherlock roused himself out of bed, gently peeling back the quilt, and paced the length of the bed. "I'm an idiot… I fucked up, and now I've lost her. What do I do? John, I can't lose her!"

John tried to calm his friend- who was now hyperventilating- by encouraging him to return to bed. When that proved to be unsuccessful, he ran to the living room where he had left his medical bag. Originally he had brought it in case he found Sherlock… well one never knew what state you would find Sherlock Holmes in.

He entered the bedroom to find Sherlock hunched over- heaving- and in the middle of a full blown panic attack. John assessed his patient and determined that he needed to be sedated and get some rest. The sedative took effect quickly, and soon enough he was tucking in the drowsy detective. Before the doctor could leave the room, he heard a confession that brought a sad smile to his face.

"I messed up… I love Molly, and I fucked it all up…"

* * *

John left the door slightly open to keep an ear on him, and made his way to the living room. He sent off a quick message to Mycroft briefly- and vaguely- informing him of what he found upon his arrival. Knowing that his wife was just as upset, he decided to call her.

_"John! I've been going crazy! Is he alright? Were there drugs?" _Mary inquired rapidly over the phone.

"No, no drugs… But he's not okay," John answered sadly.

_"What happened?"_

"Christ Mary… I've never seen him like this. I had to sedate him!"

_"That bad? Did he say anything to you?"_

John allowed a few tears to fall. "Yeah he's really broken up about it. Kept saying, 'I've lost her' and 'It hurts'… I'm sad for him. I'm scared for him, if I'm being honest. If they don't get back together, I don't know what will happen to him!"

He could hear his wife sniffle over the phone. He was glad that he had found someone who loved his best friend as much as he did.

_"Oh poor Sherlock!"_

"Yeah… Listen, I'm gonna stay the night here to make sure he's okay. I don't feel comfortable leaving him by himself. And I know he would be furious if I called Mycroft. Is that okay?"

_"Of course love. When he wakes up, please give him my love! Take good care of him…"_

"Thanks love… Oh before I forget to tell you, Sherlock said he loved her!"

There was no way to know for certain, but he was sure he heard Mary releasing a relieved sigh.

_"Well what do you know? There just might be some hope after all!"_

* * *

**End Notes: This was a hard chapter for me to write; it became really personal. I hope you don't think it is OOC. In my headcanon, Sherlock avoids feelings and emotions because when he does indulge, it is intense. (Just look at his feelings towards John, and by extension Mary, and what he is willing to sacrifice for them). Also I think he would be prone to panic attacks when he is overwhelmed or becomes unsure of himself. (I'm thinking of his freak-out at Baskerville). Of course these are my opinions and you don't have to agree with them. That's the beauty of fiction.**

**This is a Sherlolly story, so don't fret! Happiness is on the way.**

**Thank you to those who read and frequently review! I do read them, and often you guys help me out with your suggestions. I appreciate anything you have to offer... 'Til next time my friends! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: First off, all of you have been incredibly lovely! I'm glad to know that many of you supported my depiction of Sherlock's 'freak out' in the previous chapter. Those who didn't were still respectful, and I can't tell you what that means to me. Sorry it took me long to update, but angsty stories and Christmas don't exactly mix! **

**I had a hard time with this chapter, and I am a bit self-conscious about it... I hope it lives up to your standards. :)**

_'Italics in quotes'_= inner thoughts

* * *

Despite being in a familiar setting, John Watson was unable to sleep. Whether it was the lack of comfort he found on the sofa or the heaviness of his friend's vulnerability, he did not know. Once he had checked on his 'patient' for the twentieth time that night (who was still knocked out from the sedative), he accepted the fact that he would not be sleeping at all. He began to think about the events that lead to him drugging his best friend.

Anyone who met Sherlock Holmes immediately learned he was an odd sort-of fellow. He was blunt, aggressive, manipulative, incredibly brilliant (and completely aware of it), anti-social… well the list went on and on. However the few (very lucky) people privileged to know Sherlock on a personal level knew that this was just his first layer, an armor if you will, in place to protect himself. Those in his inner circle knew him to be protective, occasionally caring, and self-sacrificing. Many attributed these changes to the arrival of John Watson. Maybe it was. But however privy he was to the inner workings of the great detective, there was still a number of things he didn't share freely. Topping that list: his emotions.

So it was unbelievable to witness Sherlock, a man always in control, giving into his feelings. John had rushed to Baker St. expecting to find the occupant high or worse, overdosed; what he did not expect was to find the man wrapped in a blanket left behind by the woman who broke his heart.

_'Sherlock Holmes, heartbroken. Quite the declaration,'_ John thought as he ran his hands over his face. But that was the only word appropriate to describe the situation. By all definitions of the word, Sherlock was a broken man. He had messed things up with Molly, pushed her away, and possibly lost her forever. Finally, when he had resigned to admit that he did love Molly Hooper, it was too late.

In the midst of his internal rambling, John remembered his conversation with his wife from the night before. When he told Mary about Sherlock admitting that he loved Molly, Mary said something very peculiar. _'Something about… what was it? Oh yes! There might be hope for them after all. What does that mean?'_ He continued to reflect on the comment while he drank his coffee in front of the fireplace. Though his deductive reasoning was nowhere near that of the super sleuth, he arrived to his startling conclusion fairly quickly. _'Oh of course! Now that the git admitted that he loves Molly, all he has to do is tell her! According to Mary this is why Molly ended things. There's no reason for this __**not**__ to work out… Perfect, there is hope! He'll be thrilled... or as thrilled as Sherlock is capable of.'_

Noises coming from elsewhere in the flat broke his concentration. The groans and shuffling got louder as Sherlock exited his bedroom. He sleepily, or drowsily rather, puttered around the kitchen until his eyes landed on John. "John, what are you doing here?" he asked flatly.

John cocked his head to the side as he replied tentatively. "I came over last night to check on you and…"

"Yes, yes I remember that. I meant what are you _still_ doing here?"

"The sedative I gave you was relatively strong, I wanted to make sure there weren't any side effects. Besides I thought you might want to discuss- umm- some of the things you said… last night," John finished lamely. If he was being honest, the whole situation made him uncomfortable. Theirs was not a friendship that consisted of sharing feelings and having 'heart-to-hearts' with one another. But there were several issues he needed to address, and if Sherlock was being particularly thick then it was up to John to start the conversation.

Sherlock glared at his friend. "There's nothing to _discuss_," he spat. His face morphed into something slightly less than a scowl. "I admit I got a bit carried away, but that was only because I hadn't slept for five days. I beat my own record by seven hours!" he added triumphantly. "Anyways, now that I've rested, I am feeling more like myself. Thank you for staying… though it was entirely unnecessary."

Incredulously, John shook his head. "No. No, you're not seriously telling me that you said all that because… _'you were tired'_ are you?"

"Look John…" Sherlock started before he was interrupted.

"Sherlock I saw you! You were devastated, you were holding her blanket, you worked yourself into a panic attack… I had to sedate you for fuck's sake! So don't you dismiss it by saying that you were exhausted, because we both know that _that_ is bullshit!"

* * *

Mary Watson had just come in from outside when she caught the last of her husband's rant. Not wanting to subject her daughter to such a heated argument, she chose to leave the child in the care of Mrs. Hudson while she attempted to calm the situation. By the time she dropped off Emily and exchanged a few pleasantries with the elderly woman, the yelling was absolutely thunderous. She opened the door to the flat slowly and found the two men toe-to-toe, exchanging angry looks.

"Hello boys," she greeted, wisely opting to leave her 'lover's quarrel' comment unsaid. "What's going on?"

John smirked (Mary recognizes it as the scary smirk he uses when he is completely pissed), "The idiot is under the impression that he confessed his love for Molly Hooper because he- and I quote- _'hadn't slept for five days'_… Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you have ever heard of?" The mention that he, the Reichenbach Hero Sherlock Holmes, was being ridiculous set him off again.

In an attempt to stave off a headache, and fix the situation once and for all, Mary decided to take control. "John love… leave!"

Both men turned to look at her, somewhat confused by her command. "What?!"

"I said 'leave.' You're not helping matters at all by yelling. And honestly you two are annoying me…" she said sternly. She turned to face Sherlock, in time to catch him giving John a smug smile.

"No sir, don't think you're getting off that easy! I am staying. We're fixing this… Now!"

John took off rather quickly; he had been on the receiving end of his wife's stern voice one too many times, and knew that it was best to make a swift exit. He scurried on down the stairs, stopping by his former landlady's flat to collect his daughter. John hesitated for a second before inviting the poor dear out for lunch. If Mary's conversation with Sherlock was anything like the one they had, then pretty soon the entire building would become unbearable.

* * *

Back inside the flat, Sherlock childishly avoided Mary. He busied himself by preparing tea, then took a trip to the loo, and dawdled around in his bedroom for a few minutes. Mary used the time to make herself comfortable in 'John's chair' and observed the man quietly, planning her next course of action.

_'Ooh he's clearly uncomfortable… He appreciates facts and truth. So it's best to be blunt and efficient. Of course, that will require him to stop wasting time!'_

Loudly clearing her throat, Mary finally spoke up. "Um- Sherlock, join me over here." She noted his apprehension before kindly adding, "Please."

Sherlock grunted and walked towards his favorite armchair. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she wanted to talk about, and he wasn't about to make it easier for her either. He took his seat and begun to fidget under Mary's glare. Sherlock could tell he was being deduced; he didn't like it.

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid. What could I possibly be afraid of?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Sherlock…," Mary said warily. "I am trying to help you. Now we can pretend you don't know what I am talking about, or- and this is what I am recommending- we can figure this all out and come up with a plan."

He turned and smiled at her arrogantly. "Really Mary, I am not afraid of anyth-" One look at the former assassin was all he needed before he acquiesced. "Honestly, I don't know."

_'Good now we're getting somewhere!'_ Mary thought. "How about I ask you some questions, and see if we can come up with some answers? Hmm?" She waited for him to acknowledge her suggestion before she continued. "And it would do you well to remember that I can tell when you're fibbing!" Sherlock sighed, while rolling his eyes, and nodded in agreement.

"Do you love Molly?"

Sherlock considered lying. He had only come to terms with it himself, and he wasn't sure he was ready to say it out loud. Of course he had already admitted it to John, but he knew that if he confessed his feelings to Mary… well she would certainly make him do something about it.

The lie he had prepared was ready in his mouth, when instead came out a soft, "Yes."

Stunned by his own answer, he gaped while Mary grinned. "Next question: do you think Molly loves you?"

He knew that she had fancied him for years, he had deduced as much, but love? That he wasn't sure of. "I don't know. She never said it, and I never asked. I am aware that she cares for me…"

Mary chortled, "That, Sherlock Holmes, is the understatement of the century! Surely you realize that she loves you. No one would willingly put up with you for as long as she did, if they didn't love you."

The pout on his face reminded Mary of the one that frequents her daughter's face. "If she did love me, then she wouldn't have broken up with me…"

She took a moment to consider what he said. _'Great, now I have to deal with his hurt ego as well!'_

"If she didn't feel loved, and you did nothing to assure her that you cared for her, of course she would end things. People need to be continuously reminded that they are loved. Not everyone is a master of deduction... You know, it's likely that Molly never said it because she was afraid of your reaction- and before you deny it, you know you probably would have said something horrible to her!"

"I don't deny it Mary, I have been horrible to her. I _always say such horrible things_…" he said sadly. "I treated her atrociously for so long, and yet, she continues to be there for me. I don't know why."

Like puzzle pieces coming together, the problem became clear. Mary gasped, "You don't think you deserve her."

Unfazed by her conclusion, he responded curtly. "No, I don't deserve Molly." He huffed as he stood up from his chair and walked towards the window. "I know your intentions are good, but I don't understand why this is any of your concern. Why do you care?"

Perhaps after hearing a response like that, it would be easy to take offense. But Mary had been around Sherlock long enough to know that this was a comment stemmed from curiosity, not malice. She approached him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. She was glad that he had his back towards her; she didn't think she could get through what she needed to say if he were looking at her.

"Do you remember the vow you made at our wedding? When you said you would always be there for us- ha- what am I talking about, of course you do… Well I didn't understand what you meant at first. I thought you would continue being a good friend to John, and in time you- we- would become friends as well."

Mary paused to wipe away a few stray tears. "I've done things that I am not proud of. When I left that life behind, I never expected to have all this. I am a wife and a mother; it's extraordinary! And when someone threatened this new life, you protected us. You could have let Magnussen come after me; turn me into Mycroft; leave my daughter motherless; you could have encouraged John to not forgive me, but you didn't… What I have now, I owe entirely to you! You made this all possible… Doesn't that sound like a man who deserves happiness?"

Sherlock turned to face her. He was amazed to see Mary so affected; the real-life Bond girl reduced to tears. Only, he couldn't mock her because now he understood. He had messed up in the past, there was no questioning that. But everything he had done, had sacrificed, to help others should count for something. Though he felt far from being entirely absolved, the burden he carried lessened. He wasn't the man Molly deserved, yet, but he could be. And for the first time he felt hopeful.

He reached to touch her hand, still on his shoulder, and gave her a small smile. "Mary, you don't owe me anything." She brought up her free hand to dry her eyes and returned his smile. "Yes I do, and I've just decided to make a vow of my own..." Grabbing Sherlock's hands in her own, she stared him straight in the eyes with fierce determination.

"I vow to help you win Molly back… and keep you from fucking it all up!"

* * *

**AN: Things are looking up now, right? It's a Sherlolly story, so there has to be a Sherlolly ending! I'm thinking that there will be one more chapter, but I haven't decided yet. Thank you for reading, please take a second to review and let me know what you think!**

**I do read all your kind messages and words of encouragement, and they help! I try to respond to you all, and have had pleasant conversations with many of you. You guys are awesome, and I would hug each one of you if I could! Anyways, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I have to tell you guys that you are all very sweet. When I feel apprehensive about posting work, it's your kind words that spur me on. **

**I had a lot of steam for the first few chapters, and I'm struggling to get through the ending. There will be one more chapter after this, but we're headed in the right direction I think... Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy! :)**

_'Italics'= inner thoughts_

* * *

Trying to educate Sherlock Holmes on the complexities of women and on matters relating to love was torture for Mary Watson. This including the time she was actually tortured at a military prison camp during her days as a spy.

"Oh. My. God. Sherlock!" Mary huffed each word exasperatedly. "What makes you think that packing up all her stuff and having it moved here- without her knowledge- is a good idea?"

"Not good?" Sherlock looked at her quizzically before crossing it off a list he had compiled.

When it became clear that this wasn't going to settled in one afternoon, she quickly escaped home to kiss her daughter, debrief her husband (and kiss him too), freshen up and head back to Baker Street with an overnight bag. By the time she returned, he proudly presented a list of- evidently asinine- ideas to woo Miss Molly Hooper.

Slightly discouraged after having several of his schemes dismissed, he tossed the list aside. "I thought you said women appreciated _'grand gestures'_," he said with a sneer.

"Yes I did say that, but remember you want to respect Molly's boundaries. It won't do you any good if you upset her by not taking her feelings into consideration. Besides, it's a little barbaric…" Mary couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. "Look Sherlock, winning a woman's heart needs to be done with finesse. Be suave, be a gentleman… After all," she continued with an affected voice, "only a caveman would do something as brusque a clonking a woman on the head and drag her to his den."

"Hmm, perhaps. But it would certainly get the point across." Sherlock flashed an insincere smile that made Mary laugh.

"Nevertheless, it won't work. You're grand gesture will have to be different… not so much a gesture as a declaration, I daresay. **_Tell_** her how you feel."

The detective grimaced at the thought of having to declare his feelings. Since an early age, Sherlock had been tutored in the art of concealing his feelings. Most of the time, it was a good thing. Being able to detach himself from his emotions allowed him to work harder, push himself further, and solve cases much faster. Maybe that made him a machine, but what did it matter? The _work_ was all that mattered.

Years of experience, and growing up, taught him that there was more to life that 'the work.' For example: friendship. People he couldn't shake off, for lack of a better word, who insisted on hanging around however hard he pushed them away. The Detective Inspector who gave the junkie puzzles to solve to stave off boredom, the elderly landlady who gave the irresponsible man a place to live, and eventually an ex-soldier who saved the man with a death wish time and time again.

But the perky pathologist? She was different story.

Her warmth and giving nature made it easy to trust her. Her unwavering loyalty made it impossible for him to not care about her. It was only after he willingly and openly acknowledged her as a friend that she soon made her way into his mind, and consequently his heart.

Sherlock was roused from his musings by a soft pat to his arm. "Sherlock- are you listening? I'm giving you some world-class advice here!"

"Sorry Mary. Mind palace," he quipped as he touched his temple. The touch soon turned into a massage to the temples accompanied with a heavy sigh. "I have no idea what to say to Molly."

"I know, Sherlock. But that's why I am here to help. I won't tell you what to say, that needs to come from you. From here," she said as she pointed to his heart. "However I will make sure that whatever it is you do say isn't so… Sherlockian?"

Sherlock grinned at the phrase. "Sherlockian? Oh, is this one of the ways you're going to keep me from _'fucking it all up'_?"

"Yup," Mary nodded as she popped the 'p' at the end.

"Huh… Alright then, my life is in your hands Mrs. Watson!"

* * *

When Molly was contemplating ending things with Sherlock, she considered moving away; getting as much distance between her and Bart's, London, and the consulting detective himself. However she quickly realized that that was never really an option. To be far away from Sherlock Holmes would destroy her- not that she was faring all that well now. Even if she couldn't have the life she wanted with him, she would be content with his friendship, as she had before. She figured that a life without Sherlock, was no life worth having at all. It would be fine. They could be friends… all she needed was time to get over him.

Unfortunately she was not afforded that luxury.

She was requested back at work only a week and a half later, following a distressed call from Mike Stamford. She was nowhere near ready to return, to be honest; then again it was likely she never would. So like many times before, Molly chose to put on a brave front and get herself ready for battle. If she took a little extra care in her appearance- well- no one could blame her.

The first several hours upon her arrival were spent cleaning up the mess left by the pathologist that was filling in for her. Equipment out of place and stacks of paperwork that had been ignored were to be expected, but it was the missing cadaver that had Mike in a frenzy. After waving off praises and words of thanks from her co-workers for getting everything back in order, Molly settled into her routine. It was just like old times; in which she found comfort. That should have been her first clue. Really, wasn't there that saying about 'a calm before the storm'?

Rewriting (correcting) eight autopsy reports proved to be a good distraction; such a distraction that she didn't hear the doors to the morgue open.

"Oh Molls! I didn't think you would be here… I- um- heard that you- uh… had taken some time off?" DI Greg Lestrade stuttered. Molly looked up and smiled at him, noticing how his eyes were shifting from the door back to her nervously. He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. "Listen, Sherlock is on his way in to look at a body. I didn't think you would be here, otherwise I wouldn't have… Shit, I'm sorry Molly."

Molly bit her lip and tried to hide any signs of worry. "Don't even think about it, Mike called me back early... We were going to have to work again together eventually. Might as well be today, right?" She finished, trying to sound cheerful.

Greg breathed out and relaxed his shoulders a bit. "I only found out about you guys, John told me. After Sherlock was ignoring my calls and texts… John says he's not good." He was shuffling around awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable. Molly chuckled inwardly, _'Does he think I'm going to break down and cry right here?'_

"Well anyways, I am glad that you're here! The pathologist they got to replace you is an idiot… That's why I called in Sherlock. We need to look at several of the reports he wrote up and see if there's a connection between victims. What your _'replacement'_ identified as natural causes may be in fact serial murders."

If she had any hopes of getting through this first meeting with Sherlock, then she would have to be the epitome of professionalism. "Yeah I've been going through some of the reports, very sloppy indeed. I think we still have the evidence he collected from the bodies. Let me go get that."

Molly scurried out of the morgue to retrieve the necessary items. Sure she could have sent an intern, but she was happy to do it. In fact, it bought her some time to mentally prepare before Sherlock arrived. _'Calm down! Breathe! Be professional… You have to make them believe that you can handle it. Be strong Hooper!'_

* * *

Molly stood tall, pushed her shoulders back, and strolled into the room. She felt her heart clench at the sight of her former lover. She was grateful that he had his back to her, giving her an extra second to get it together. Maybe he wouldn't notice her anxiety; if he did, maybe he wouldn't say anything.

Greg and Sherlock were huddled by the autopsy tables, speaking in hushed tones, neither of the two noticing her presence. She cautiously walked towards them and caught the end of their suspicious conversation.

_"Is this going to be a problem?" "No." "I'm serious Sherlock! If you can't control yourself you better leave now, because if you say something hurtful-" "Really __**Greg**__. It's fine."_

Molly cleared her throat, suddenly feeling guilty for eavesdropping. Both men turned to face her; Greg looked uneasy, while Sherlock looked… gorgeous as always.

Sherlock gave her a small smile. "Molly, how are you?" Molly returned his smile with one of her own, "Good, thank you."

Fully aware that he was not one for small talk, she thought it best to get to work straightaway. Once the awkwardness had subsided, things began to feel normal. Sherlock looked at evidence under the microscope and spouted off deductions while Molly ran tests. They moved about the room in a well-choreographed dance; the way only two people who truly understand each other can.

Several hours later the trio found their connection, in addition to the person who should be held responsible for these deaths. What they presumed to be the work of a serial killer was actually an incompetent pharmacist who was recklessly filling prescriptions. Molly was glad she could give the victim's families peace, Lestrade was eager to stop the man before he claimed more lives, and Sherlock was annoyed with the anticlimactic results. In other words: business as usual.

Greg rushed over to Molly's side and gave her a small hug. "Thank god you're back… Don't think we could've solved it this fast without you! I gotta go and pick this guy up. I'll see you two later." With one last pointed glare at Sherlock (as to remind him to behave himself), he made his exit while barking orders into his phone.

The slam of the morgue doors served as a deafening reminder that the two were alone. Molly chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from babbling. She hated awkward silences, but whatever would come spilling out from her mouth would surely be more awkward. She sighed inwardly. Actively concentrating on not speaking was difficult; pretending to be unaffected by Sherlock was worse.

She kept herself busy by washing the labware when she heard the metal stool he was on scoot back. He was halfway out the door when he turned to look at her. "Molly? I'm leaving now."

Startled by his voice, she squeaked out a small "okay" before he stepped out further into the hallway. _'I guess this is how things will be like from now on,'_ she considered sorrowfully.

Sherlock hesitated at the door for a moment before he spoke up again. "It was- um- good to see you Molly." The tenderness in his expression was unlike any previous look he'd given her. It _almost_ undid her. Not trusting her voice, and her brain for that matter, she gave him the warmest smile she was capable of. Sherlock nodded as a parting gesture and left.

Molly stared at the spot he had occupied seconds earlier and released the breath she had- apparently- been holding. She did it, she had survived her first encounter with Sherlock. Regrettably, it was an empty victory. Where she should have felt relief, she simply felt more sadness.

She returned to the dirty equipment in the sink, and attempted to keep her tears at bay. It would not do well to have an emotional breakdown on her first day back to work. Luckily the task was monotonous, which allowed her to continue on autopilot and get lost in her thoughts.

Sensing another person in the room, she spun around to acknowledge them. Molly was a little stunned to see Sherlock again so soon. She took in his appearance, _'Disheveled, out of breath, and slightly flustered,'_ she observed.

Apprehension flooded her face as she fell back to her old ways. "Sherlock, what's wrong?"

He ruffled his hair and narrowed his eyes in her direction. "I didn't want to do it here, like this… But we need to talk."

* * *

**AN: I didn't want to end it there, but it would have become way too long. I haven't decided what happens next so if y'all would like to provide suggestions, I am more that willing to accept. **

**Not entirely happy with this chapter, but I would still love to hear what you think. You are awesome! Cyber-hugs! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Hello everyone! The support I have received from you guys is amazing, I am so grateful! So after horrible writer's block, a bit of discouragement, and the start of another fic (which I'll be posting soon, so keep an eye out please!), I was able to write. I hope you all enjoy! :)**

_'italics'= inner thoughts_

_"italics" (with quotation marks)= phone conversations_

*Please let me know if it becomes hard to follow so that I can make the necessary changes!

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was a man set in his ways. He believed that '_alone was what protected him'_ and that opening himself up to relationships could be potentially dangerous. Foolishly he had allowed John Watson into his life, and in turn people used him as a way to get to the detective. In fact, Sherlock had lost count of the number of times John's life was in danger because of him. But John was a soldier, and a man- not that he was sexist- but he could defend himself if the need arose.

Oh, but Molly…

Her life was in jeopardy the moment he asked for her help in his death. What protected her from harm was that no one believed that he, the Great Sherlock Holmes, would be in cahoots with Mousy Molly Hooper. Everyone had seen how he treated her; they knew he didn't care about her, that he used her… even though that couldn't be further from the truth.

It was during his second year away, fighting off Moriarty's henchmen, that he realized that he loved Molly. He refused to accept it, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was true. She represented hope, home, safety, and love. Molly's love had saved his life, and it was what kept him going in those dark times.

When he returned and discovered that she was engaged to _Tom_, he convinced himself that what he had felt was nothing more than sorrow for all he had sacrificed. Sherlock continued to keep his distance in order to ensure her safety. Unfortunately when theories about his survival began to pop up naming her specifically- thus making her a target- staying away was no longer an option.

As time went on, and engagements (his included) were broken, the feelings began to resurface. Ever the one to be logical, he found a reason for it all… _'I seek Molly's company because I am used to having an assistant.'_ Or- _'I am an observant man, of course I would notice what colors and hairstyles suit her best.'_ The stronger the feelings were, the more ridiculous the excuses became. _'I am sexually attracted to Molly because I am a man… I can't fight biology!'_

So once again he broke his self-imposed rule, and let Molly in. It was only supposed to be an _'arrangement'_ for sexual release (as he didn't want to deny himself anymore) between friends. Eventually 'just sex' turned into spending the night with each other, and hanging out- without the pretext of a case; and he couldn't say that he hated it at all.

Sherlock had never felt like this before. Willingly passing on cases in order to lounge around with Molly was a bit unsettling. But he did; frequently. This domesticity was terrifying… And what distressed him further was that Molly wanted **_more_**.

What more could he give? He was faithful to her, and he had no intention of seeking out another. Why did she want to **define** their _'arrangement'_? Did she really want to be relegated to childish titles like 'girlfriend/boyfriend' when their relationship meant so much more? Evidently. So when Molly suggested breaking up and carefully listed her reasons, he conceded. After all, he wasn't capable of giving her what she wanted.

When Sherlock made this argument to Mary Watson, she threw a book at his head. "You know for a genius, you can be remarkably thick! Don't you see? Everything she wants is already what you are willing to give her-"

"Right Mary," he said derisively. "That's why we broke up… Because she's happy with me!"

Mary rolled her eyes theatrically. "Stop it Sherlock! I am saying that she wants to know that you care for her, that you are loyal and faithful… She wants to feel secure."

"She knows all this already!" He retorted at the thinly veiled insult.

"But did you ever say it?" Mary asked waiting to see if he would answer. When his eyes darted away, she continued. "Sorry mate, there's no way around it. If you want her back- for good- you're going to have to actually say the words."

* * *

Sherlock had not expected to see Molly back at work so soon. When he had received the call from Lestrade he got ready quickly, left the flat (for the first time in over a week), and made his way to Bart's. Of course there was a possibility she could be there, but that didn't make him feel any more prepared. The moment he heard her clear her throat as she entered the room, his heart began to thunder in his chest. In fact it continued to beat at an increased rate until he left, several hours later.

A few times he had to physically restrain himself from touching Molly; it was almost as if his limbs had a mind of their own. His legs insisted on walking towards her and his arms longed to wrap around her. Then he would remember that he couldn't, shouldn't, wasn't allowed to, and the ache in his chest would return. Instead he focused on the work… well at least until the next urge materialized.

Eventually the case was solved, Lestrade left to do… whatever it is he does, and the two were alone again. Sherlock tried to break the tension but each time he moved to say something, nothing would come out. Accepting defeat, he stood up and made his way to leave. He let her know that he was leaving (usually he would just go without saying a word), and couldn't help but tell her that it 'was good to see her' which was absolutely true.

And then… she smiled at him. That smile that melted him; the one made him weak in the knees. It was the smile she would reward him with when she was happy with something he said or did.

It unraveled him. He quickly left the room, only making it as far as the stairwell before being consumed by another panic attack. Fortunately it wasn't as severe as the one he had at Baker Street, but it was enough to make him feel winded and dizzy. He clumsily reached for his phone and dialed the first person he could think of.

_"Hey Sherlock, what's up?"_

"Mary I need help," he gasped out.

_"Sherlock! What's wrong? I have the baby, but do you need me to go to you? Is it dangerous? Should I call John?" _Mary was nervous, it was alarming to hear Sherlock in such a state. _"Tell me what happened-"_

He cut her off before she could go into what John liked to call 'assassin mode' and plan some sort of strategic maneuver. "Physically I'm fine, though I think I'm having a minor panic attack... Actually, I'm calling because I saw Molly-"

_"What did you do?"_

Sherlock scoffed. "Nothing. I behaved, believe me. Lestrade warned me… It's just that I saw her and I felt- and I wanted to- but I don't know… I realized how much I miss Molly."

_"Oh… Are you still at the hospital?"_ Mary inquired.

"Yes…" he answered tentatively, waiting to see what advice she had to offer. He could hear Mary breathe on the other end of the phone.

_"Then go… Do it now. Tell her everything you've told me."_

* * *

Molly was a little stunned to see Sherlock again so soon. She took in his appearance, _'Disheveled, out of breath, and slightly flustered,'_ she observed.

Apprehension flooded her face as she fell back to her old ways. "Sherlock, what's wrong?"

He ruffled his hair and narrowed his eyes in her direction. "I didn't want to do it here, like this… But we need to talk."

Molly left her spot and met him in the center of the room. The look in his eyes reminded her of the terrifying moment when he asked for her help with his suicide. Suddenly uncomfortable, she wrapped her arms around her middle.

Sherlock sighed and moved in closer. "You were wrong, you know…" Molly shivered at his choice in wording. "You're scaring me, Sherlock. What's wrong? Whatever it is, I can help you."

He reached out and grabbed her hand, feeling somewhat pleased that she didn't pull away. "You said that you couldn't ask me to change. But you already have. Over the years, you've _demanded_ that I change by not accepting anything less than my best." Molly furrowed her brows in confusion, but allowed him to continue.

"You made me apologize when I was rude, admit when I was wrong, and you ground me. You helped me find my humanity… I once said John saved me, but you, Molly, have healed me. Time and time again."

Molly let the tears fall freely, making no effort to wipe them away. "I don't understand what you're saying-"

When she didn't move to dry her tears, he took it as an invitation to do it for her. With his free hand, he gently brushed the tears off her cheek. "What I am saying, Molly, is that I've already changed so much. Why do you assume that I wouldn't change again? For you?"

Molly's breath hitched. "But you said-"

Sherlock grinned, "So my word is gospel now?"

She laughed airily. "I think I know what you're saying, but I'm going to need you to spell it out for me… Make it perfectly clear so there's no misunderstanding."

He resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. _'Mary's going to be unbearable when she finds out she was right.'_

"Whatever it takes to keep you here with me, I'll do. Whether it's getting married, having children… I would do it all for you." He had expected her to jump into his arms when he made his intentions known, to be honest. So he was a little more than surprised when she took a step back.

"That's not what I want. I mean- I do, want those things- but don't just agree with me because you think that's what I want to hear!" The last few words were laced with mild irritation. "What if I agreed, had children, and one day you wake up and realize that you never wanted this? What then?"

A voice in his head, sounding suspiciously like Mary, was telling him to fix it fast! "No, you misunderstand. What I mean is- well… I just," he stuttered. Why was it so hard for him to explain himself? In the past few days, he had poured his heart out twice. Why couldn't he do it now, when it really mattered?

"I can't look at you," he began to say before he caught Molly's horrified expression. "Fuck, that's not what I meant. That is- it would be easier for me to say what I need to say if I turned around. Is that okay?"

Molly bit her lip and nodded, letting go of his hand and stepping further away. "I'm still here. I'm listening."

"Thank you," he said as he faced the other way. Sherlock took a deep breath and readied himself. "When I suggested this _'relationship'_ it wasn't just about the sex. Well a part of it was, naturally, but the rest of it was because I care about you and I wanted to be around you. You were already my friend, so it seemed like a natural progression. Perhaps what I should have told you was that, I had no intention of recreating this relationship with anyone else. Either it worked out with you, or- I would continue being on my own, like I had before. There's no one else I could ever be with. I trust you with my life… I think that's what made this so easy."

Sherlock could hear her sniffling behind him. He wanted to comfort her and hold her, but he understood that he need to say all this first. Something much greater awaited him if he got this right.

"If you remember, I said it was going to be a sexual relationship. But it became so much more, don't you agree? On average, we spent about five nights each week sleeping over at each other's flats. We even fulfilled social obligations together… What I am saying is that we spent almost all our time together; and it wasn't always sex-related or case-related. I think we did it because we enjoy each other's company, or at least that is why I did it."

"You know me better than anyone, even John, so you should know that all the trivialities of human nature escape me. I told you that we would not be a couple… I said that because I didn't know how couples worked. The only experience I had was with Janine, and if that's what being in a couple entailed, I wanted to avoid it at all costs. However, I did like the way you and I were together. Mary explained to me that not all couples are the same. And if that's the case, then I could easily envision us together for the rest of our lives."

"I am already entirely committed to you… that is- if you will have me. I don't plan on going anywhere. Still, if you require a silly piece of paper to convince you of my sincerity, then I would gladly do it. As for children, I had never considered fatherhood as an option for me. Though, I am positive that any children we bear together would be absolutely brilliant."

"This is all unfamiliar territory for me and although I am a great student and a fast learner, I can guarantee that I will frequently make mistakes. I know you well enough to have complete faith in your patience and I know that you would teach me… After all, you knew me- including all the ugly bits- and you still gave me a chance. And for that, I'll always love you."

"Anyways, I am done now," Sherlock finished feeling short of breath. He waited around for a response. _'Had she left the room? No, surely I would have heard the door. Did she faint? Janine fainted that one time…'_

The silence was worrying him. "Um- Molly?" He made a move to turn back around when Molly's voice stopped him.

"No, don't turn around yet. Just give me a minute, please." She said softly. Waiting for her to speak up again was causing Sherlock unbelievable anguish. _'Did I overestimate her feelings for me? Maybe she just didn't want to be with me anymore. It is too late… Mary was wrong, I-'_

Sherlock's mind came to halt when he felt two arms wrap around his waist. Molly pressed her forehead between his shoulder blades and tightened her grip, effectively keeping him in place. The gesture alone gave him the courage to release the- metaphorical- breath he had been holding since the day Molly left Baker Street. He placed his hands on his stomach, directly on top of hers, and felt nothing but bliss when she entwined their fingers together.

"Can I turn around now? Please?" Sherlock pleaded. She didn't answer, but he could feel her head bob up and down in the affirmative against his back. Wasting not a second more, he spun around and wrapped his arms around _his_ pathologist's shoulders. He rested his cheek on the top of her head taking a moment to thank whatever deity was responsible for the beautiful woman in his embrace.

Molly shuffled a bit in order to look up at him. "I missed you," she whispered. Sherlock brushed hair out her face before responding, "I missed you too."

The reunited couple continued to hold on to one another; neither feeling any rush to let go.

"Hey, guess what?" Molly prompted cheerfully. "When I was cleaning, I found the missing "wish bone" piece to _Operation_. The game is complete now, isn't that cool?"

Sherlock chuckled; it was incredible how much he missed her. He brought his hands up to cradle her face and gave her a warm smile. "Molly Hooper, I love you."

The last thing he saw before lowering his lips to join hers was that wonderful smile. His reward for finally getting it right.

* * *

**End Notes: Quick poll: end it there, or add an epilogue-type chapter? Hmm? Let me know.**

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	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I apologize for the delay, it's been ready for awhile but I was shy to post. I feel like the last chapter was a good place to stop, but you've all been so wonderful I chose to write this next little piece of fluff for you (definitely different from the previous chapters)... **

**Anyways, here's the final chapter. I hope you all enjoy! :)**

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Sherlock had faced many adversaries in his lifetime, all with an unshakable confidence and an air of indifference. Therefore it was rather ironic (read: comical) that a woman who was by no means an "adversary" could drive such a man into a fit of nerves. Yet it was true. Summoning all the strength he had, Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and uttered the phrase he never thought he would say…

"Molly Hooper, will you marry me?"

"No."

Sherlock's face of sincerity (or what he thought sincerity looked like) dropped, along with his jaw. He took a look around 221B Baker Street, hoping the reason for such a blunt refusal would show itself on the walls. Obviously, it didn't.

"What do you mean **_No_**?" he asked incredulously.

John Watson, being the good friend that he is, could be heard snickering from the sofa. One stony glare from the detective shut him right up. Sherlock switched his glare over to the blonde woman standing in front of him- the one who turned him down- and impatiently waited for her explain herself.

Mary Watson returned his scowl, with a tinge of mirth behind the expression. "Really Sherlock, is that how you plan to propose? It was rather fortunate that you practiced on me, surely she would have said no!"

Sherlock threw himself onto his armchair and pouted like a child. "But she loves me."

Mary rolled her eyes, and had a seat in the chair across from him. "No one doubts that she loves you, silly. However no girl wants to be proposed to by someone who looks like they might be sick!"

This received more snickering from John before he added his two cents. "She's right mate! If Molly sees that you're nervous-" Sherlock scoffed "-or you look unsure, she's going to say "no" in order to spare you. You know it's true, she's self-sacrificing and all that... In case I haven't told you lately, that woman is a saint for putting up with you!"

Sherlock dropped his head and nodded regretfully, "I know, I know. You remind me all the time."

Taking a slightly more serious tone, Mary steered the conversation in a different direction. "Let me ask you something, Sherlock. Why are you doing this? Why is it so important to propose now?"

A loud sigh escaped from the detective. Sherlock had gotten much better at expressing his feelings (with certain people of course), but that did not mean he enjoyed it, nor felt comfortable in doing so. But even he wasn't so foolish as to attempt such a thing as **_proposing marriage_** without consulting someone first. Mary Watson had already proved herself to be very useful in reuniting him with Molly. Now John's presence… was proving to be anything but helpful.

"Molly and I got back together five months ago, and while everything is going well- great even- I can't help but feel that something is… off." He finished with a grimace.

"Off?" Both Mary and John parroted.

"Yes, it's almost like something is missing. And she doesn't bring up marriage, or having children… I think she doesn't want that anymore, or maybe she just doesn't want that life with me."

Mary gave him a warm smile. "Don't underestimate her feelings for you, Sherlock. I think she is just waiting for _you_ to bring all that up; you know, trying not to pressure you. There's no question that you marrying Molly is a wonderful idea, but you need to work on your- umm-"

"Delivery?" John offered. "Yes! Thank you John…" Mary agreed, and continued. "Your work is cut out for you! We know she would accept in a heartbeat. What we need to work on is convincing her that YOU are ready for marriage. Which you are, right?"

Sherlock sneered. "Of course, I would not be suggesting it otherwise. As a matter of fact, I bought her engagement ring shortly after we reconciled-"

"Wait!" Mary interrupted loudly, "If you have a ring, why didn't you use it to propose to me?!" The look on her face was one of indignant offense. The former soldier laughed at his wife's reaction; when one was friends with Sherlock Holmes, questions such as this one was within the realm of normal.

"Well _Mrs. Watson_ that was just acting. Surely you understand that I wasn't _really_ proposing to you. Therefore, why would I use Molly's ring?" He turned to address his best friend. "Seriously John, if your _wife_ is upset that I am not actually propositioning her, maybe I shouldn't be coming to you two for relationship advice."

"Git," John muttered under his breath. "If you've had the ring this whole time, why haven't you asked yet?"

"I was waiting for the right moment," Sherlock said as he shrugged nonchalantly.

Mary startled both men when she abruptly stood up and started gathering her belongings. "John let's get going…"

"Oh- okay," John responded looking confused. Looking equally as confused was Sherlock, who was displeased by their hasty departure. "Where are you going? I thought you were going to help me!" he whined.

Mary walked towards him with a smirk gracing her face. "Oh I am helping Sherlock. I text Molly from your mobile, and told her you wanted 'to talk.' She'll be here in about five minutes."

She took a moment to appreciate the look of horror that covered his face. "B-but… Now? I am not- I don't think…" he stuttered while pacing the length of his sitting room.

John patted his shoulder before joining his wife's side. "You'll be fine. Just remember: tell her that you love her, convince her that you actually _want_ this, and… don't look like you're about to wet yourself!"

With one final glower, Sherlock shooed his visitors out the front door. John and Mary's cackles could be heard throughout the house as they descended the stairs. He allowed himself one more grunt of annoyance before getting to work. If Molly was on her way, then he needed to make the place look somewhat presentable… and he needed to think of what he was going to say.

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Luckily for Sherlock, what was supposed to be five minutes turned into fifteen, buying him some extra time to prepare. He was never one to clean up for company, but since this _guest_ would likely be moving in- if all went according to plan- then it was imperative that he show her that he was capable of maintaining a hospitable home.

Shortly after taking a seat in his chair, Sherlock heard a familiar gait climb the stairs. With each approaching step he felt his heart rate elevate. He stood up and walked towards the window to have a look outside, willing his _'transport'_ to calm down. This was possibly the biggest moment of his life, and he wasn't about to ruin it by succumbing to a panic attack.

His finely-attuned ears heard her pause at the front door. "You wanted to see me?" Molly inquired while removing her outerwear. Sherlock inhaled deeply, turned to face her, and took several determined steps in her direction.

"Molly!" he squeaked out, slightly irritated by the awkwardness he was allowing himself to feel. _'Good lord! You have been intimate with her, it shouldn't be so difficult to carry out a conversation with her!'_ he thought before a voice- eerily sounding like John Watson- responded: _'You've never had a conversation like this before… well, you know aside from Janine.'_

Sherlock shook all conversations out of his head and decided to focus on the one he _should_ be having with Molly. "I was wondering if you would-" He paused briefly trying to sort his thoughts.

"-like to solve crimes." Molly finished cheekily while quirking her eyebrow. She chuckled and waited for him to get the joke. When he still looked confused, she waved it off and walked over to greet him properly. "So how are you, love?"

As Molly leaned over to peck him on the cheek, Sherlock seized the opportunity to bring her closer by wrapping his arms around her waist. "Hmm… I am doing much better now that you are here."

He meant it, too. The tension Sherlock had been feeling prior to Molly's arrival melted away completely. This happened frequently, he realized. Whenever he felt uneasy or overwhelmed, she was the balm that soothed him. He had already acknowledged the fact that he would be with her for as long as she would have him; would it really be so bad to be legally bound to her as well? Was it really that difficult to say-

"Marry me?"

Molly stiffened in his arms. "What?" she asked apprehensively, meeting his gaze. Sherlock blanched. That wasn't how he had intended to do it. Though he hadn't exactly prepared a speech, there were several things he had wanted to say before blurting out his proposal.

"Sherlock? Did you just-"

In twenty years, would it matter that he didn't wax poetic? No. Would it matter that he didn't get down on bended knee? Probably not. The only thing that would matter would be the sincerity in his request. He chose to soldier on, leaving behind any notion of the "right way to propose."

"Marry me, Molly Hooper." While his body language read as nothing short of confident, his voice exposed his unease. He reached into the pocket of his trousers to pull out the black velvet box, and opened it slowly to reveal a beautiful princess-cut diamond resting on a platinum band. It was simple, it was elegant, and it was entirely Molly.

"Marry me Molly, so we can start our lives together as soon as possible. Marry me because I love you more than I could ever hope to articulate. Marry me because referring to you as anything other than "wife" is no longer acceptable."

Molly didn't answer. Instead, she delicately placed her small hand in his and allowed him to slip the ring onto her finger.

Feeling much more assured, he flashed her a smug smile. "So is that a yes?"

She let out a watery laugh and blinked away several tears. "Yes Sherlock… My answer is yes, of course I'll marry you!"

Sherlock had anticipated (more like calculated the odds) that she would say yes, however hearing her confirmation was indescribable. The magnitude of relief and happiness that washed over him was intense; enough to make him feel dizzy. His arms wrapped around her waist once more before lifting her up and swinging her around the room. The laughter that filled the room turned into soft moans as their lips met in a celebratory kiss.

"Are you sure about this?" Molly asked as the two parted.

Sherlock grinned at her mischievously. "Do you doubt me, Doctor Hooper?"

Molly returned his grin with one of her own. "Of course not Mister Holmes. I hope you know what you're getting yourself into… You'll be stuck with me forever!"

Sherlock chuckled and tightened his grip around his patholo- no wait- his _fiancé_. "Molly my love, that's exactly what I am counting on!"

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**AN: So there we have it, our conclusion. I tried to include babies like some of you all requested but I didn't know how to fit it in without rushing the progression of the story... That only means I'll have to write another story where they're parents, right?**

Thank you all for reading and reviewing. You have been wonderful and so encouraging... I can't thank you enough for your support! Love you guys and everyone in our weird little Sherlock family!

Please be sure to review, and send any ideas you have my way! :)


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